


Throw Away Your Gold

by Macbetha



Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8641906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macbetha/pseuds/Macbetha
Summary: H I A T U S // Nao is from a life of luxury. Natsuya is not. Everyone wants Natsuya. Nao does not. But when they are star-crossed between the line of rags and riches, they find in each other the meaning of wealth, hunger, love, and gold.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a stand alone story but it could also be considered a prequel to ["Eyes Wide Open All the Time."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5768821/chapters/13293727) Either way, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Saltyaf, thank you for your priceless advice and beta magic. [(archive of our own](http://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyaf/pseuds/saltyaf/) | [twitter)](https://twitter.com/poutyharu)

* * *

_"Not in it for the money, just in it for the thrill_  
  
_Living in the moment, paying for the kill_  
  
_Golden grill of sadness, mid-life wasted youth_  
  
_Always ends up like this, always gonna lose_  
  
_Dazzle me, dazzle me, dazzle me with gold_  
  
_You'll never be what you want to be with all that money_  
  
_Dazzle me, dazzle me, throw away your gold_  
  
_You'll never be what you want to be with all that money."_  
  
  
"Dazzle Me" by Oh Wonder

* * *

They say that Hell is empty, and all of the devils went to Iwatobi's most prestigious high society known as Diamond Back.  
  
They are not monsters of sickness and murder, but rather beautiful creatures who speak only in honest lies and false truths. They live in luxury and die with diamonds while the rest of Iwatobi hates them for it and refuses to admit that Diamond Back represents every sin that they are not brave enough to commit – the sin of the _unimaginable_ life that everyone imagines. Drowning in booze on a white sand beach, laughing in the sunlight and cameras flashing. It is a life of never being hungry, never being sober. Everyone knows your name. Entire conversations are dedicated to why you looked at someone this way, or how come you appeared to be so tired on that day, or all the possibilities as to why you sit with 'this' leg crossed instead of 'that' one.  
  
It is absolute bullshit and everyone, _everyone,_ wants it. Especially those who claim that this kind of life is not realistic, even as they burn with jealousy that it will never be their own. These kinds of people are right up there with those who claim that everyone in Diamond Back had to have sold their souls to become so disgustingly rich, and they are right. Every one of those middle class shits are right. But they are also fighting the desire to join in the filth – the only thing holding them back are their righteous little hearts.  
  
The people of Diamond Back are rightfully known as snakes, and they are every bit as wicked and nasty as Iwatobi makes them out to be. But what makes them laugh until they choke on their sparkling champagne are the people who think that they can make it big by acting any other way. Outsiders are outsiders because they cling to their morals and beliefs and uncross-able lines and all that dumb fuck. Those limits and boundaries will get you laughed out of the streets of gold. You have to be wide open and ready for the spectrum of duties that come with making it in Diamond Back – there can be no hesitance.  
  
Sometimes these duties are as easy as whispering lies in the right ear, the one that will spread the gossip like wildfire and in turn, do the dirty work for you. Other times, the duty is fabricating public outrage that will leave a person’s reputation in ruins. There is a lot of double-crossing at the women’s Sunday brunch – and more than enough scandals take place in the mayor’s summer estate each year – and while all of it is done for the same outcome of more, more, more, none of it comes without a price.  
  
Walking through the streets, weaving through beautiful crowds and ducking around fountains overflowing with glittering water, it is in the air. Take away the thrum of harps and flutes and ringing laughter, wait for that fleeting moment where the madness lulls into stillness and you will find it there, hidden beneath the cover of sweet perfume: the stench of death.  
  
The snakes, they try to mask the odor by flooding the streets with incense and hanging thousands of candles in their priceless chandeliers. They drown themselves in drunkenness to forget the smell of rotting bodies beneath the streets, the ballrooms, the cellars of their mansions. They sit at their fireplaces in velvet thrones and ignore the chill of vengeful ghosts as they plan the downfall of yet another poor soul because there is no other way in Diamond Back. The men make their riches with the charm of serpents and the women know who to smile at and just when to do it. The snakes are as sharp and deceiving as diamonds, and they know that their city will destroy them if they are not just as artificial as the flashing lights.  
  
Marriage is a particular poison none of them can resist. Not love – marriage. But even so, a married couple who hates each other will put on the act of love and run themselves into bankruptcy just to prove that they are better than everyone else. They have achieved the one thing money cannot buy: happiness. They will leave their own children just to make an appearance at the hopping parties and those children learn Diamond Back survival through their abandonment. They learn how to lie before they learn how to speak. They stop smelling flowers and start sniffing out fear. Their first instinct is to find weakness that can be used to cover up their own.  
  
But none of these talents matter in the faces of their parents, so the children stop wasting their nights on grand staircases in dark corridors, all by themselves. Those children grow into rich, rebellious teenagers who are left alone with empty estates and empty hearts, and that angry fire burns brighter when you throw money on top of it. They have no one to chase the monsters away so they give in to them, throwing parties so wild and destructive that most end in explosions or shoot outs. But even if such catastrophes are avoided, each party thrown in Diamond Back always ends in death, and each one is the result of reckless, rich kid bravery – drunk driving, alcohol poisoning, drug overdose.  
  
There are no memorials, no moments of silence. The city does not sleep for the dead because grief does not exist in Diamond Back – there are too many things to buy and too many people to impress to dwell on such matters. This event needs to be attended and that drug needs to be tried and the flashing lights burn emotions and sanity away.  
  
There is only one thing that burns brighter than those lights.  
  
In the city of crystal smiles lays a young fire who has ruled the battleground of the rich and wicked since he was pulled from the night sky – where else do angels come from? Where else do devils fall from? Harps of gold sing in his voice and those lights, in all their artificial sincerity, shine in his eyes. The wealthiest of men are diminished to beggars in the mud when he comes around; they need his time like they need a drink and want nothing more than satisfying his desires. He burns through their world of hierarchy and high grade cocktails, spiraling through the kaleidoscope of music and wealth. He gives them love. Lies. What everyone wants.  
  
And everyone in the sparkling chaos of this city wants to be burned by Natsuya.  
  
Everyone but Nao.


	2. Cerberus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so a bit of background with the odd chapter titles: you'll find that nao loves greek mythology (a trait he got from me), so the chapter titles correspond with mythical gods / creatures / events / lands / battles and the content of the chapter. i include a definition of the chapter title before the work, so the correspondence might make a bit more sense, and i'm so glad that some of you have already discovered the parallel of the work summary with madeline miller's "the song of achilles," which, ya'll. y'allll. please read that magnificent piece of work. 
> 
> thank you saltyaf for the beta reading! [(archive of our own](http://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyaf/pseuds/saltyaf/) | [twitter)](https://twitter.com/poutyharu)
> 
> **WARNINGS:** if you've read my work before, you've seen me use my writing as a way to make political statements about things i feel should have more awareness of and be changed. i had a rescue dog and it was her story that inspired this chapter setting as a dog fight arena. therefore, please, proceed with caution.

* * *

  _ **Cerberus:** the three-headed dog of Hades that guarded the entrance of the Underworld, allowing the dead to enter but letting none out._

* * *

 The fight ends with the death of two boxers and victory for a Rottweiler called Sapphire.  
  
In the sweltering heat of the arena, the crowd is as rabid as the dogs. Clawing starvation takes hold, not a physical hunger but an ingrained, dissatisfied need for _more_ even as the beasts collide with gold collars and platinum claws, their teeth sharp and pristine as they gnash _._ Drunken roars echo throughout the stadium, demanding more drinks, more girls, better drugs, stronger dogs, another round, another fight, more, more, _more._ In the holding corral, strays brawl for scraps or huddle together in the filth, but their misery is ignored by the crowd of suits and cigars, of necklaces dripping gold like honey. Flies fester in the stench of the fighting ring, eating at the dogs as they are dragged into the spotlight, and with a bright flash and snap of gunfire, the next round begins.  
  
The excitement is terrifying; sanity is lost in the roar of the crowd, music swelling over the aroma of perfume, liquor, and blood. Nao’s fingers tighten on the edges of his book as the shouting crests with exhilaration and he stubbornly keeps his eyes cast down at the pages even though he cannot process the words. He reads backwards and forwards, mentally scrambling the letters to make up new words in a desperate attempt to keep his mind occupied, but his chest is sinking, _dropping_ into an empty space at his center, trying to suck his limbs up and fold him into something so small that he might dissolve and vanish from this horrible place.  
  
Nao is sure that the arena is hell on earth and he will always think that even though he has learned how to internalize his horror. The first time his father brought him to the fighting pits, he had a mental breakdown – as he rightly should have at just ten years old –but even after that, his father insisted that it was necessary to witness the fighting. Nao stopped recognizing him after that because the only thing he learned was how to hold his tears back – then, each new horror seared his eyes dryer and dryer until he could no longer physically cry no matter how hard he tried. He has not shed a tear in the three years since he was ten.  
  
That is what his father wanted to happen, but Nao does not feel stronger for it. It did not make him understand the madness of the stadium nor give him the urge to participate in it. He is sickened. The thick heat makes everything feel slow and too vibrant, too real. He can practically get high off the gamblers’ electric anxiety; he relishes in the sight of men like his father losing the fortunes they bet. It is fascinating, seeing people on the verge of losing everything or striking it rich in this underground empire Nao quietly, secretly calls the Underworld because, like he said, it is hell.  
  
Operating beneath the streets of Iwatobi, it is a netherworld of black markets and bootleg dealings, which is a shame for Nao since he appreciates honesty. He almost feels safe around the gang lords who watch the fights with their weapons laid out on their tables with clear intentions – it is an act of sincerity even in such a dangerous form.  
  
High society has always considered Nao fascinatingly strange for being genuine. Not to say that he is a saint – his father is a front runner of Diamond Back, therefore Nao is evasive by nature, which, he supposes, really _should_ make for smashingly good company down in the fighting pits since everyone here is pretending to be someone else. It is too easy to spot the men with wives at home; they are the ones who order the most prostitutes. The bottom-feeders who have no business being here laugh at everything said and drink whatever they are handed.  
  
Same people, same masks – every time.  
  
There are outsiders here like most nights, easy to distinguish by their shit confidence and cheap suits. They are drawn here by stories of those who traded in their struggles by gambling their way into Diamond Back. What no one has told the poor fools is that they will get more respect for spending all their time on their back, rather than trying their hand at earnest success. That heartfelt intention is what keeps the betting pool filled with their hopes and dreams and no matter how many times they go home broke, they keep coming back with that strange, foreign concept of, “If I give it all I have, good things will come and I will succeed.”  
  
Perhaps the rest of Iwatobi is like that. Maybe even the whole universe. But not Diamond Back.  
  
“People need to be hungry,” Nao’s father once told him, sighing smoke as he weaved a pipe between his fingers. “And they need to be desperate. That is how the game is played, love.”  
  
Nao asked, “What game?”  
  
His father had laughed at him.  
  
“The game of greed,” Nao mouths to himself, flipping the next page of his book in a failed attempt to drown out the noise. The husbands and wives cheat to feel freedom, the broke people sneak into the the arena to feel daring, but they are all just pieces in the game of greed because they want to feel _more._  
  
It is exhausting to be surrounded by. Nao closes his copy of _The Iliad_ and regards the line of men at the arena railing. His father is one of these men, distinguishable by his ruby cuff links and pale, marble face. He is enraptured in the show of violence despite never carrying a scar in his entire life. He is truly mad to think he deserves to stand at the side of Augustine De Vitis, the leader of Diamond Back who has a face like a battlefield and a son like a monster. Pietro is Nao’s age but he stands with the men so closely to the fight that his white suit splatters red, his dark eyes shining with excitement.  
  
Nao is disgusted with every single one of them and slips away before he is unable to stop himself from making his feelings known.  
  
The holding pen extends deep into the walls, until the chaos is nothing more than a faint rumble in the ground. The corridor is quiet and dark so the dogs will not get worked and injure themselves. They are investments with a fortune’s worth of steroid injections, medications, and training – an accidental death could cost someone their entire estate.  
  
Nao finds Balancing Belle, the Serizawa’s fighting dog who has hated him since the day she was born. She is a fat, white Pitbull that growls at him as he passes her cage, and most of the other dogs snap at him as well, but there are a certain few worth the abuse.  
  
The strays are taken from Iwatobi’s poorer areas, where they have nobody who cares if they never see the light of day again. There are mutts found by the dozen in abandoned houses used as fighting rings and there are even muzzled wolves that were captured in the outskirts. But here in the pits, they all act as bait in the dog fights. They never win a match, only lasting about a minute in the ring, but they always rush to nuzzle Nao’s hand when he sticks it between the cage bars. Each one of them is so starved for affection that he tries to rub all their ears and bellies, hoping to give them something kind to remember when they are thrown in the ring.  
  
Nao giggles when a dog nips at his finger, tugging on it to coax him into playing with her. He rubs the soot out of her fur, which is white at her belly and nose and chesnut everywhere else. Her nose is scrunched up, indicating that she might be mixed with Boxer, but what is certain is that she is fit to burst into light, she beams so hard when Nao rolls a pebble back and forth between them.  
  
Shouts echo through the tunnel, making him tense. His breath comes sharper as gravel crunches under racing feet and he cautiously rises to a stand, scrambling to remember the defensive stance he should take, which is pathetic, given how many times Pietro’s tried to show off. His heart lurches up his throat when a figure tears through the shadows, the blood exploding in his veins as they charge at him with a roar. They collide with Nao, ripping the air from his lungs as they both crash to the ground.  
  
Before he can even blink the stinging dust out of his eyes, the person yanks him up by the collar and their breath is a hot, cinnamon rush against his mouth, making his lips tingle, chills trembling up his arms. Their faces are only an inch apart and Nao’s gasp is hollow – he has never been this close to another boy before, and the proximity has a strange heat rising in his cheeks. The boy smells like a rainstorm over fire, the musk of a damp forest. His rampant curls are dark, flashing with swirls of copper. A crease pinches between his furrowed brows, which are as sharp as his cheekbones and clenched jaw. He snarls with bared teeth, his eyes like burning coals, red and orange drowning in brilliant gold. He is the sun, an uncontrollable fire, a magnificent heat. He could be a god from Nao’s mythology stories with all that fury and self-righteous light, but which deity exactly, he is not sure. There are pieces of Ares in his strength, touches of Aphrodite in his beauty, Artemis, in the way he hunted Nao down in the shadows, or maybe he is just an angry human, or perhaps more, yes, _Achilles,_ in his rage.  
  
Something about him is as familiar as the darkness behind Nao’s eyelids, safe when no other darkness is. Their eyes lock and a restless ache spikes in his chest, like it had been sleeping and the boy’s eyes flared it awake. Nao swears he feels the weight of his own heart, the severity of its loneliness. He seizes the boy’s wrist and feels his pulse, realizes it matches his own – they share a rhythm more familiar than his own father, his own face.  
  
Nao startles when the boy shouts, his voice a rasping crack caught right in the middle of puberty. “What were you doing to her?! That’s my dog!”  
  
He rears back to punch Nao but falters when the Boxer yips at him. With a delighted cry, the boy scrambles off Nao and reaches through the bars to hug the dog, laughing as she licks his face, cooing, “Nana, good Nana!”  
  
Now at a proper distance, Nao takes in the rest of him and can scarcely believe the sight; he has never seen anyone dressed so poorly. The boy is tall, but his jeans are at least two sizes too big, rolled up at the hips and knees. He is not wearing shoes and his feet are caked in shimmering dust. His tank top is threadbare and Nao never really paid attention to things as simple as _arms,_ but his eyes are wandering over biceps, the first bulges of muscle, and there is barbed wire inked around his left tricep. Nao cannot even believe he is looking at someone so young with an actual tattoo; he is almost positive they are the same age!  
  
He is pulled from his reverie when the dogs at the tunnel entrance erupt in a barking frenzy, signaling that the arena workers are approaching. The boy fumbles with the cage lock before whipping around, the tiny gold hoop in his ear lobe flashing. “The key, you have it?”  
  
Nao swallows, face flashing hot. “I…” He knows where the keys are, but he has never dared to entertain the thought of letting a dog free.  
  
The boy stalks towards him, trying to intimidate Nao, which makes him scowl with sudden annoyance. “Tell me! Tell me or I’ll – I’ll punch you!”  
  
Nao bristles. “ _You most certainly will not.”_  
  
The boy cranes back with a blush, rosy peach in the hollows of his cheeks.  
  
Nao brushes himself off hauntingly as he rises to his feet, glaring the boy into taking a disbelieving step backward. “How do I even know you’ll be nice to the dog? You haven’t been very nice to me.”  
  
They can hear the workers nearing but Nao is patient as the boy wrestles with his pride. At long last, he does the _exhausting_ chore of heaving a sigh. “All right look, she’s my mom’s dog. You lot _took her_ right outta our backyard and I want her back, just – just _help me_ and we don’t ever have see each other again, okay?”  
  
Nao’s chest lurches at the thought of that for some reason. Would the boy stay, if Nao refused to help?  
  
That thought is controlling, too much like his father, and it settles his conflict. He finds the key ring under a loose panel in the wall and hands it to the boy, his fingers warm where Nao’s stay cold. He unlocks the cage, opening the door for Nana to scramble out, but then he hesitates, staring down at the rest of the dogs through the bars and layers of dust, grime, filth, and misery.  
  
Nao recognizes the pain in his eyes and dread sinks in.  
  
The boy shakes his head, turning to look at him. “We can’t leave them here.”  
  
Nao’s reaction is curiously delayed.  
  
And then it hits him like a bullet, thrusting him back against the wall. “We can’t let them out! _Are you insane?”_      
  
He scoffs. “For wanting to save innocent things from getting eaten alive?” His mouth curls in disgust at Nao. “You’re insane for watching it happen and doing _nothing.”_  
  
His loathing burns tears into Nao’s eyes – nothing in three years has caused such reaction. He quickly ducks his head in fuming silence, refusing to let anyone see such weakness.  
  
The boy drags out a sigh, as if making Nao cry was _his_ wrong-doing. Nao is the one at fault because he is the one _crying,_ but the boy seems to think otherwise, because he comes forward.  
  
Nao stiffens when he ducks down to meet his eyes under the protective shield of his bangs. He has at least a foot of height over Nao, but he makes an effort to level their gazes. “Sorry, okay?” He says this in a murmur, around a stubborn pout. “Mom says I’m not soft enough.”  
  
Nao sniffles, wiping his eyes, voice wet and thick. “My dad says I’m too soft. He’s right.”  
  
“So?”  
  
Nao blinks up at him in confusion. The tears have left his vision unfocused like a movie from the 70’s and the boy’s colors are more gentle this way, watered down, faded in red and golden pastels. “If being too soft is what made you care about these dogs –” He dumps half the keys into Nao’s palm, rolling his fingers over them. “Then too soft is what makes you want to set them free. And I know you do,” he smirks, the rush of warm cinnamon coming with his voice. “You wouldn’t be down here with them if you didn’t.” He sighs with exaggerated longing. “But now you have half the keys and I have half, so now we can’t do anything without each other~”  
  
Nao opens his mouth but his throat clenches in fear, the keys heavy and cold in his trembling hand. The boy insists, “You’re down here by yourself instead of up there in that _feeding frenzy_ because _you’re different than them.”_ He lifts his chin rather proudly. “You’re like me. So, let’s make it different for them.” He points at the endless line of dog cages.  
  
Nao’s mind races with a thousand different scenarios and none of them turn out well. Neither does the case of leaving this all behind – every single dog will be dead by morning if he does nothing.  
  
That reality, somehow, hurts more than any punishment he might have to face.  
  
His decision is finalized when the boy dips close with a roguish grin, whispering, “C’mon, when’s the last time you had any fun? Untuck that shirt and show me what a rich boy’s made of.”  
  
Nao looks up, arches a brow, and slowly mirrors his grin. 

* * *

 The crowd is violent in their anticipation for the next fight, a collective roar of restless displeasure, throwing drinks, firing guns at the ceiling, fists shaking the arena railing. They are too wound up to notice the faint ripples in their drinks, their ash trays giving the barest leaps. A climbing vibration shakes the very air and the crowd falls silent and still with confusion. It sounds like an oncoming train, a rumble of thunder tumbling closer and closer.  
  
All at once, there is pause, an infinite moment of stillness.  
  
And then, with the force of a plane crash, a stampede of dogs crashes through the arena.  
  
The sea of fluff drowns the entire stadium, excited yips overpowering scandalized cries. Dogs dive headfirst into bar sinks and come up snapping at bubbles; they slip in puddles of beer and rear around to do it again. They tear at gowns and pee on loafers, overturning tables to rip into steaks and vegetables. They snatch jewelry and cigars, making a game out of getting chased, having the time of their lives.  
  
Nao and the boy laugh themselves to tears from the cover of an overturned table and he never knew that he could cry out of uncontainable joy. Nana wags her tail between them as they point out particularly funny spectacles, like an old woman who swats at a hound with her torn pantyhose and a drunkard who is on the floor in heaven under a mountain of puppies.  
  
They fall into each other, laughing so hard that it takes all the strength from them, and their giggles die out as their gazes meet. Their smiles are breathless, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. Nao never knew how light his heart could feel; he has never known anything like this rush of pure sunshine in his veins. He feels like he is right at the top of Mount Olympus – without all the adultery and bloodshed, of course. It was this boy, this _Achilles,_ that made Nao so happy, and in a desperate surge, he lunges forward with the hope of returning the feeling.  
  
The boy inhales sharply when their lips fumble together, dry and fast. Nao has never kissed anyone before, does not know what exactly made him want to do it so suddenly when he has never wanted such before, and panic spikes as he realizes that he has _no clue_ what to do next – even if he did, he has lost the courage to move. Thankfully, this boy adjusts quickly, a warm hand gentle on Nao’s cheek to angle his head and brush their mouths together more softly. The boy’s lips are sweet warmth, tenderly closing against Nao’s, whose lungs are full of wildflowers, swept up in the scent of forest rain – it washes away the drought his heart has endured for so long.  
  
They lean apart and there is some sort of apology shaping on Nao’s tongue before he catches the look in the boy’s eyes. He is roaring light, grinning like mad as he leans forward to smother Nao’s giggles with kisses, stealing as many as he can before he is gone. He races for the exit, dancing more than running with Nana at his heels, laughing victoriously all the way up to the rafters.  
  
Nao is laughing too. “That was my first kiss, you jerk!”  
  
The boy twirls around dramatically and blows him another theatrical kiss. “I’ll give it back to you one day!”  
  
Nao smiles wider than he ever has, fists clenched in earnest excitement. “You must swear it!”  
  
The boy pauses at the exit, meeting Nao’s eyes across the chaos of the arena. He puts a hand over his heart, pledging his devotion like a warrior at Troy, as if a war could not keep him from this cherished promise: “I swear it.”


End file.
